


By a Difference of Twelve

by Mythweaver



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: F/M, burden of the past, let's run away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythweaver/pseuds/Mythweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-game. Porom wants more than the life of an Elder. Kain desires a different kind of life altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By a Difference of Twelve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [argle_fraster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/gifts).



> Quick aside, my mental ages for the characters are as follows…original game Porom is 12, and Kain is 24. Current ages 19 and 31.

 

                 Porom began the morning to the sight of a red dawn. The sun rose out of the mountains in the east, the color of blood, but grew orange and golden as it climbed the ladder of the sky. She sat atop the Tower of Prayer on her knees; hands folded on her lap. She had decided to do her meditations this morning with eyes open, spirit fully aware of the world.

                As she watched the sun rise, her thoughts went with it. She had surely heard the grim portends of red dawns, but she chose instead to view it as a sign of life, not death. The rays hit her skin and filled her with warmth as she slowly stood, straightening her long white robes.

                Seven years had passed since the end of the war and the Elder had already made overtures for her to take over his position as the spiritual head of Mysidia. The decision was weighty, and without Palom’s steady presence at her side, her moral support, she felt like a small leaf at the edge of a precipice. Take the plunge or hope to catch flight and wind up somewhere else?

                She had watched the other heroes grow up and move on, inheriting kingdoms and responsibilities. Forging alliances, fostering relationships, marriages…

                She sighed, stomping gracelessly down the tower stairs. Meditations were over, and now the doubts began. She was the _responsible_ one, the _dutiful_ one. Why couldn’t she have inherited Palom’s wandering spirit, able to cut ties and travel the world without regret? She had laid her roots too deep and now they’d trapped her here, in this city of old knowledge and tomes. She had the wisdom of three ages catalogued on shelves beneath her feet, but she still missed the open skies, the dirt road stretched for miles ahead of her, and the uncertainty that came with adventure.

                Once she had crossed the crystal room and entered the main foyer of the Tower of Prayer, Elsinore, one of the Elder’s aides, greeted her with a bow and a cup of tea. Porom accepted the tea and cradled the mug in her hands, savoring the warmth and the scent of the herbs as they wafted to her nose. Elsinore accompanied her to the library where a large tome lay open on a lectern. Beside it lay several sheafs of paper and a bottle of ink.

                “I’ve gone over the pages you transcribed yesterday afternoon,” Elsinore informed her. “I’ve made the necessary revisions if you’d like to double-check them.”

                Porom set down her mug and inspected the pages covered in pencil corrections and smudged ink. She rubbed her eyes, feeling far older than her age.  Rosa had requested copies of several of the Mysidian texts for the purpose of training mages in Baron and Porom had been transcribing them for her. Porom understood that Rosa couldn’t afford to send half of Baron’s students to Mysidia for their education, but wished there was an easier way than having to re-write each magical tome by hand. It was a laborious and tedious task, but one the Elder had deemed an important part of her graduation to senior mage.

                Elsinore left her to her work, and by the time Porom remembered her tea, it had long gone cold after hours of writing. She blotted the last line and sat back in her chair, back aching from leaning forward too long. Was this the life of an elder? Was this _her_ life? Her whole life stretched before her in her mind, years upon years. She had fifty, sixty years of work ahead of her. Would she be old and gray and still bent over books? She uttered a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

                The tolling of the city bell distracted her and she jumped in her chair. She spied the clock ticking rhythmically on the wall, but it wasn’t the start of another hour. Realizing it was the city’s alarm, she was up with a start, out of her chair, and striding through the library and foyer and out into the courtyard. The bells continued to toll, and she briefly recalled the color of the sun that morning. _It couldn’t be…_

She left the compound that made up the tower of prayer, dormitories and other buildings, and stepped onto Mysidia’s main avenue which was tiered so that she could see far down into the citadel. Her walk turned to a jog when she saw a cart being pulled by a chocobo rumbling up the city’s main thoroughfare. She met the cart halfway on its journey to the tower, and when she was abreast of the cart, she carried on a hurried, breathless conversation with the mages on either side.

                “What happened?” she asked, expecting to hear that someone had been mauled by a beast in the field. It wasn’t uncommon for young mages to test their mettle and fail in the fields that surrounded the citadel. Porom had seen firsthand some of the injuries that could happen when lack of skill met a cunning opponent. All she had to do was remember her time traveling with Palom and Cecil, and she knew all too well.

                “Found him just shy of the chocobo grove,” one of the black mages answered, Anders was his name.

                “He? Chocobo grove?” Porom clarified, glimpsing the man lying in the cart. He wore leather armor scarred from hard use and a traveling cloak stained in blood. The hood had been pulled over his face, but Porom could see from the blistering skin on the man’s chin that he had been exposed to the elements for a few days at least.

                “Take him to the dormitories,” she instructed, bustling her robes and running beside the cart in earnest.  

                The cart came to an ungainly stop in the tower courtyard and Porom hurried to catch up to it. When she arrived, the two mages who had accompanied the cart were busying themselves with lifting the man so he could be moved to the dormitories.

                “Follow me,” she instructed, leading them to the dormitory’s main entrance much to the surprise and gawking of several white mages in training. “Move!” she shouted at them when they didn’t get out of her way fast enough.

                She held the doors open as the mages carrying the man made their way through, and then led them to an unoccupied room. “Here. Set him here,” she conveyed to Anders and his companion.

                They laid him down on the bed, boots, and all. Porom pulled back the hood covering the man’s face, revealing well-formed features, a broad jaw, and sandy blonde hair.  

                “Kain,” she whispered to no one in particular. She shook herself out of her reveries and began to prepare salves in the basin beside the bed with well-practiced efficiency. “Thank you,” she said absently to Anders, and the two mages departed, leaving Kain under her ministrations.

               “I warned you,” she muttered to herself, as she wrung out a damp cloth and set it against Kain’s forehead.   




                With her palm pressed against his forehead, Porom began to cast Libra, trying to assess the extent of his injuries. Once she had finished, she sensed Elsinore in the doorway behind her.

                “I’ve seen him before,” she heard Elsinore say with a wry tone.

                Porom didn’t bother turning around. “Something must have happened.”

                “Something he wasn’t already warned about?” Elsinore asked cynically.

                “No,” Porom said, palm still resting against his forehead. She closed her eyes, frowning. “Could you at least get in here and make yourself useful while I begin the incantation?”

                Elsinore pushed herself away from the doorframe and stepped forward, taking the damp cloth away from Porom and giving her a significant look as she sat down.

                “ _What,”_ Porom insisted, looking at Elsinore as the other woman re-wetted the cloth.

                “Only that it’s been seven years. Seven years of you asking him why he goes to that mountain searching for absolution. Seven years of him finding himself here in need of care. I’m not sure why it’s always you that treats him when this happens, but it’s a destructive cycle, Porom. If he wants to seek his own death, perhaps it’s time we honored that.”

                Porom squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t give up on him,” she said with force.

                “Why not? What could you possibly owe this man?”

                 Porom opened her eyes again, looking at the beaten man lying on the bed. “When Cecil came here for the second time as a dark knight, many people asked the same question. Why would Palom and I accompany him to the mountain—how could a man with that much darkness in his soul possibly find peace and healing?”

                “Cecil was only one man, and it was his destiny. This man isn’t destined for the same fate, it’s futile for him to try.”

                “How could you know that?” Porom countered angrily. “Do we all have only one destiny stretching out for miles in front of us?”

                “We are a people of prophecy and destiny, Porom. Had there been another future for this man, it would have been revealed to us.”

                Porom laughed coldly. “Yes, revealed to someone sitting in solitude in a dark room—meditating and never experiencing.”

                She saw the look of reproach that Elsinore afforded her. “This is quite the speech coming from the one chosen to replace the Elder.”

                Porom sighed. “If a man wishes to seek forgiveness, even if that forgiveness is from himself, I owe him the chance to try.”

                “This is madness,” Elsinore muttered, re-dampening the cloth and returning it to Kain’s forehead.

                “I prefer to call it determination,” Porom said instead, closing her eyes and beginning the necessary incantation to heal his wounds. It was a lengthy spell. She had seen Kain in bad straights before, but this time he had been left for several days and his injuries were grave. She wove her words with magic, working to restore the balance of humors in his body. When the last of the incantation left her lips, Porom leaned back in her chair, drained by the intricacies of channeling the magic required for the curaja spell.

                When she opened her eyes, she saw that the color had returned to Kain’s face and his chest was rising and falling at normal intervals.

                Elsinore had removed the cloth from his forehead and stood beside the bed, a look of disgust on her face. “You’re only postponing the inevitable,” she said, turning to walk toward the door. “I hope you’re satisfied knowing this man can continue torturing himself.”

                “Thank you, Elsinore, that will be enough,” Porom called after her, annoyed. It was true that the last time Kain had been healed of his wounds, he had left without a word, but this time Porom was determined to speak with him before he vanished.

                It was several hours before he awoke, groggy, and confused. Porom had dozed off, but came awake once she heard his groans from the bed. She sat up with a start and saw him trying to get up.

                “Take one step, and I’ll place a Hold on you,” she threatened with a level voice.

                He cast her a sideways glance and then closed his eyes, no doubt staving off the headache that often followed the accelerated healing of white magic.

                “How did I end up in Mysidia?” he grumbled, his voice low.

                “How do you usually end up in Mysidia?” she retorted, her tone light.

                He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I didn’t want to be a bother to you,” he said, looking at the floor.

                “It’s too late for that. You’ve been seven years of bother,” Porom replied.

                Kain frowned, and then stood.

                “I wasn’t kidding about that Hold spell,” she continued. “Kain, sit down.”

                “I’m perfectly well,” he countered.

                She gave him a skeptical glance. “In all the years you’ve tested yourself on that mountain, how many times have I questioned you? Honestly questioned you?”

                He looked at her. “Not as often as I would have thought,” he admitted.

                “And why do you think that is?” she asked.

                “Because it’s not your life that’s being wasted,” he answered grimly.

                She frowned. “You should sit,” she told him. “Leastways, it’s too dark for you to set out again. You may as well listen to what I have to say.”

                He looked at the door for an instant, and then considered her advice, sitting on the edge of the bed. He refused to meet her eyes.

                “Kain, I’ve asked you in the past why you do this. I’m asking again—why? For what possible reason do you continue to torture yourself?”

                His smile was quick but sad. “I’m a man who’s lost his purpose,” he told her. “I was a captain, a friend, a warrior. And what I became…”

                “What did you become?” she asked. “From where I sit, you are simply a man hiding from his responsibilities”

                He glanced at her. “Hiding?” he scoffed.

                “What you were is still waiting for you—your place being held. All you have to do is return to Baron and it would all be given to you.”

                “Not all,” he added ruefully, staring at his hands. 

                Porom sighed, looking at him sadly. “Is she the only reason?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

                “I can’t just go back and pretend to be happy with the life I once had. I can’t watch my friend with his bride, wondering what it would have been like if the child was mine and not his. I go to that mountain searching for a greater purpose, for a new vision. Something so different from what I had that it would make me forget what was.”

                Porom unconsciously reached out to grip his hand and found that it was strangely cold. After a minute, his fingers closed around hers.

                “Is it possible that you’ve already created a new life—here in Mysidia?” she asked quietly.

                “Convalescing here is not the same as living here,” he answered. “I find quiet on the mountain.”

                “But what about perspective?” she countered, looking him in the eye.

                “What _about_ perspective?” he volleyed. “I must be the one to find my own destiny.”

                “Alone?”

                “I thought you were being readied to take over the Elder’s seat. Why does it sound like you’re looking to avoid your own responsibilities?” he asked curiously.

                “I am a mage, I will always be a mage, and I am meant to remain here to be the spiritual guide of my people,” she said, and was startled to find that she had finally admitted any of this. “But like you, I long for something greater, a destiny of my own choosing. I am one thing, but I am also more. “

                His expression changed from disbelief to wonder. “You certainly speak in riddles,” he told her with a wry smile.

                “And you live a riddle,” she answered with a small smile of her own. “I’m asking that you don’t return to the mountain alone—not this time.”

                “Are you suggesting I take you with me?” he inquired, frowning.

                “I’m suggesting that we help change each other’s destiny,” she replied, looking at him thoughtfully.

                His brows slowly crawled together in confusion.

                “Porom, if you’re—” he began, licking his lips nervously. “Porom, you’re very young.”

                 “And you’re too old to be sulking on a mountain top by yourself,” she retorted. “Do you have any convincing reasons why you don’t want me with you--or is there only one white mage you’d allow to accompany you?” she asked giving him a piercing glance.

                He studied her for a long moment. “Change each others’ destinies?” he asked with one brow quirked upwards.

                Porom stood, and stepped so she was standing in front of him. He looked up at her, baffled, as she leaned down to plant a light kiss on his lips. “Is it so strange to think?” she asked.

                “It is a little strange,” he admitted, his hand still gripping hers.

                “We are what we are—and we are both more than what we seem,” she said with a smile.

                He just stared at her for a protracted moment, stunned. “Do you think we’ll ever find out what that means?” he asked.

                She looked him in the eyes. “If everyone else can find what they’re looking for, why can’t we?” she asked lightly.

                At this, a confused smile slowly spread across his lips and he also stood. He rested his hands on her either side of her face and drew her in for a kiss. It was exquisite really, searching, and Porom lost herself in the moment.

               “For change,” he whispered against her lips.

               “For change,” she replied, still smiling.

               “What about the Elder?” he asked after a moment. “What about your duties?”

                “I’m sure he’ll figure it out in the morning when we’re both gone,” she told him with a laugh.

                He looked at her very seriously. “How devious, for the future leader of Mysidia,” he told her with a tinge of irony in his voice.

                “Yes, well,” she replied. “Sometimes you have to take the more winding road,” she said, walking toward the door. When she was standing in the doorway she turned. “And so long as this winding road leads us back here in a week’s time.”

                “Find all of our answers in a week?” he asked, brow still raised.

                “I have oaths to take,” she said matter-of-factly. “And are you really going to make me sit through the Succession speeches all by myself?”

                 He laughed quietly.

                “Are you coming or not?” she inquired, hand on hip.

                “Of course,” he answered, following her out into the night.


End file.
